No Escape

The dragon's body burned away completely—born and dead in the same day after causing so much destruction.

Its owner had finished her farewell by burning its remains, then strode toward the Knight, staring at him with barely contained fury. Her face stayed eerily calm, but her dark crimson-blue eyes never left that weak figure before her.

Leon stood there, exhausted—keeping up the fight now would mean certain death. He knew this tyrant was ruthless and strong enough to crush them all. He also knew that, despite standing with them for now, the Knight was still vulnerable. He hesitated and thought carefully: maybe it had been a good thing the Knight survived until now… until this disaster struck.

The tyrant spoke in a deep, rough voice, dripping with anger:

"Today… Signe, my sister, we claim our right to vengeance. Vengeance centuries overdue."

Then she turned to her sister and added, her tone heavy, "Allow me… to unleash myself. Step aside."

With that, she summoned an ancient spell—bright red flames tinged with a haunting rose glow. It was a clear warning. In an instant, she lunged across the gap between Leon and the Knight. Leon barely had time to step back, but the Knight sensed her approach and dodged at the last moment.

Her blazing, razor-sharp hand swept past Leon and drove mercilessly into the Knight's chest, piercing what remained of his proud armor. Despite every effort and the devastation he'd caused among the ruins, her blows barely left a mark on her. She even blew him back with a wave of her spell's fiery power, her burning beauty lighting up the blast.

She was small—slimmer than Leon, smaller than the Knight—but utterly fierce. Her fury shot skyward, and the Knight could find no strength to stand against her. His sword shook in his hand, its hilt growing so hot it nearly burned him.

Leon tried to step in and help, making sure that Frida and the others had put as much distance as possible between themselves and the raging destruction. He knew, from Father Petrus XIII's words, that the prophecy of the tyrants' return was unfolding right before his eyes.

He summoned a sacred light spell, forging it into a blade of pure iron and blessed platinum—bright, razor‑sharp, and pulsing with the power of the "sacred relic." His sword met her flames, and for a moment, he had the upper hand. Just a few well‑placed swings… but that was all Leon needed to realize he had no choice but to press on.

It cost him sweat, blood, and exhaustion—but he refused to give up. He knew there was no escape, no retreat, and no hope except to confront her—despite the terrifying force pouring from her delicate frame.

Shock.

Shatter.

Shatter.

Shock… and crushing impact.

Chaos followed. The buildings that once stood proudly in the heart of The Platinum Keystone were now piles of despair, the ruins of the devastation they'd wrought that day.

They stopped fighting—though she hadn't tired a bit. In fact, she'd enjoyed it! She admired Leon's effort, his persistence, his worn‑out resolve. And she had every right to be arrogant.

When she stepped closer, she lowered her weapon and introduced herself:

"Hilde Grace… of the noble Grace lineage."

She smiled, perfectly condescending.

"I'm delighted to meet someone with such honor and tenacity… I haven't seen the like in ages. But… it's unfortunate you must die, since this isn't your fight. Circumstances dictate—and that Knight… he must perish here and now."

She gave Leon a choice: surrender and let events play out, or continue this "heroic folly" and die trying. She knew she could kill him easily—and he knew far more than she realized.

Leon hesitated—doubted—then steeled himself: he wanted to go on. He wanted to see this "foolish bravery" through to the end.

Hilde sneered and said, coldly, "You're a fool."

A flaming arrow shot toward him—Leon barely saw it in time. By the moment it struck his chest, the wound was already deep, close to his left shoulder. He tried not to fall, but his body shook, and he nearly lost consciousness.

And Hilde? She intended to finish him off. But she gave him one last chance—sensing he'd chosen to act like a "foolish hero," she decided to grant him an ending "worthy of his foolishness," unleashing a torrent of fire at him.

Leon collapsed to his knees. The pain was unbearable. The bleeding wouldn't stop. When he'd reached his limit, he knew he could no longer resist. He couldn't move or even heal himself. He surrendered—offering his body to that scorching wave, which surged toward him mercilessly. He closed his eyes… in fear.

Maybe… it was over.

A sword's edge cutting through air—

that was the first thing Leon heard.

When he opened his eyes, he couldn't believe what he saw…

The Knight was standing before him, holding back all that fire with sword and body. He was gasping for breath, trembling, his armor torn to shreds—only a few scraps clung to him now.

It was the first time Leon saw him clearly. What did he look like?

Sheer exhaustion.

A heavy‑lidded eye, haunted by everything it had witnessed.

A pale face, tousled brown hair, old cuts and scars, and those ancient runes under his left eye…

In that moment, Leon realized something. He managed a pained smile—and passed out.

The Knight caught him gently, laid him down lightly on the ground, then stepped back. Now… it was between him and Hilde.

When Hilde finally saw his face, she broke into a satisfied smile. She laughed aloud, "All these years… I've wanted to see his face before he died. Now I've got my chance." It was the first time she'd looked at him in so long.

The Knight raised his sword, and Hilde answered with a barrage of fiery explosions that ripped across the battlefield. But she noticed something… his movements had changed. They were sharper, more fluid. His strikes found her chest—yet she dodged them easily.

That's when she knew: the man before her wasn't the same Knight she remembered. This was a faded copy—weak, brittle, easily burned. The one she'd feared was a nightmare, a demon who'd wiped out her family.

She was grateful for this weakness… but she hated him all the same for it.

In the end, the tide of battle turned in her favor. The Knight fell under another volley of flames. He blocked them desperately, but one pink‑tinted shard pierced his chest. It didn't go all the way through, but it left him in bitter pain, helpless and spent.

Hilde accepted it.

The Knight's spirit… that broken young man… was now in her hands. And he had to be crushed.

She spoke as silence fell, the flames dying down, every sound fading away. Within a one‑kilometer circle, only her sister Signe stood there—distant, silent—along with a few scattered onlookers.

In her deep voice, cutting through the heavy quiet, Hilde said:

"This is how it goes, warrior… One hand spills blood and brings an end. Then another hand comes to take revenge and restart the cycle. Ten thousand years ago, I was a tyrant. And because of you… two more tyrants were born."

She sighed, her tone thick with bitterness and hate:

"We'll make sure you never find peace, not even in Hell."

Even with sorrow etched on her face, she was beautiful—and there was a sliver of arrogant joy in her eyes. She conjured soft flames around the exhausted Knight's body. There was no armor, no resistance left in him. He stood still, calm.

Had he given up? Maybe yes… maybe no. But he looked like someone who was tired—tired of the endless cycle, of pain, of grief and guilt. Maybe he just wanted to leave, at last, in peace—hoping that what he left behind, heavy as it was, would be his best legacy.

He drew a slow breath… and the flames touched him. They teased him gently at first, then flared up—and then… stopped.

Hilde gasped and whispered to herself, "They stopped?" Her fire… hadn't burned him. It hadn't touched him at all. Suddenly it vanished… into nothing. A sudden chill crawled over her, a shiver racing through her body.

She felt him. She knew this feeling. She remembered it well. That presence… Her tongue felt heavy saying his name. She was afraid. Maybe because… he was the one who had warned her. He was the one who had ordered her not to come close.

And from the void, from the wreckage… he took shape. As if nothingness had woven him a body: four arms hanging like branches, a slender dark, pale form… no eyes, no mouth… yet he spoke. His voice was deep, terrifying, echoing:

"Hilde…"

He moved forward in silent steps over the rubble. Hilde stood there—frozen, tense, unmoving. It was him. The Presence of "Nowhere." She knew the rules… She remembered what she'd been told when she sat in one of the Nine Council's chairs:

"Tyrants must never harm one another. No killing, no violence."

And… she had broken that rule. She muttered, lowering her head, "Revenge…"

But the Presence of Nowhere raised a hand and cut her off. Then he moved closer and said in a calm but heavy tone:

"I know about your family… And I understand your vengeance. But… among tyrants…"

"It's different now, and, sadly, my dear… you were wrong. I'm here to stop you." The Presence of Nowhere continued in that heavy tone.

Hilde snapped back at him, furious:

"After all the years it took me to find him—after his aura vanished and we thought he was dead!" She waved her hand arrogantly, still demanding her revenge on the Knight, ready to strangle him forever.

But the Presence of Nowhere didn't answer. He just looked at her with pity as she spat out harsh words. He refused to listen to any more of her ranting—he knew she was angry, acting like a child who'd lost something precious and now wanted vengeance.

So he simply waved his hand—and silence fell.

Hilde was gone, and the ruined battlefield stood empty. He hadn't killed her, hadn't erased her—he did something wiser: he sent her home in peace, all the way west to the distant Grace Mountains, the old stronghold of the extinct Grace family.

When her sister Signe learned what had happened—that the Presence of Nowhere had sent Hilde away—he spoke to her in a calm voice:

"My dear daughter, today I saw your sister's actions mirrored in you… and you, on the brink, are much like her. But you know me… I am forgiving, indulgent. Go home now to your angry sister… and I hope she calms down before I return."

He said those words, looked at Signe kneeling and crying in devotion… then whisked her away to the west, ending the chaos here.

A heavy silence settled over The Platinum Keystone, with its half-standing buildings and dying people. The Presence of Nowhere greeted the Knight, even though he'd been unconscious for some time.

He approached, touched the Knight's hair quietly, and whispered,

"How many years has it been, my friend, since you left? Do you know how much we've missed you? Your seat is still empty… and spotless. We all hoped you'd return, even though there are fewer elders like us now. We welcomed the new generation… like Hilde and her sister. I hope you'll come back soon."

Then he rose, ready to depart—when the Knight suddenly grabbed him by one hand, a grip so fierce it refused to let go.

The Presence of Nowhere chuckled softly, savoring that flash of hatred and anger—emotions he hadn't seen on this Knight's face in years. He slipped from the Knight's hold and said with a pale smile,

"When this moment passes, we'll have plenty of time together in the future, my love… whether you want it or not. It's inevitable."

Then he vanished. Only the wind remained.

Nearby, Leon lay half-conscious, his body trembling in the bitter cold as the wind howled around him. The Knight knelt there, pain wracking his unconscious form. But he felt one thing clearly: anger.

Just being near the Presence of Nowhere—even for a short while—awakened something deep inside him. It ignited a rage he thought had long since burned away. He'd forgotten it… or pretended he had.

But after this day soaked in blood, sweat, and despair… when he finally slept, he remembered only one thing: Only hatred